


Down to Earth

by funnylittleguy



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Diaspora, Established Relationship, M/M, the author was having fun and forgot to add plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnylittleguy/pseuds/funnylittleguy
Summary: Erik has broken every flying machine Charles has ever built him.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Down to Earth

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH im giving erik curls fuck you!

"Again?" Charles lifted up a propeller with a finger. Heat emanated off the feathers; this must have happened no more than half an hour ago. He released his grip, where instead of resisting the air the propeller fell back to the ground and snapped off the circumrotator. Charles closed his eyes and exhaled as evenly as possible. "Erik."

"What can I say, I'm a glutton for adventure," Erik said, his mouth stretched in an apologetic smile. He did, at least, look the part. The tips of his Genoshan hair, thick and curly when uncut but tamed by what was probably fire, were frayed, and Charles hadn't smelled something burning until Erik had, to use the word liberally, flown in. There was a cut weeping blood across his left cheek and another one dangerously close to his eye. He was banged up and in need of a bath, but he wasn't in the same shape as his flying machine, which lay in a smouldering pile of broken parts on the grass in front of its creator.

What a mystique Erik's first machine had been, reduced to trash! Charles had devoted an entire week just to the designs: the brass coating of the cockpit was engraved with intricate Genoshan hand-lettering the opening from the epic of _Lanfrard,_ the man who made a deal with the goddess of the sky to create the wind. The wooden propellers were entirely new mechanisms that Charles invented just for Erik's machine; the wood he bought from a lumberjack miles out of town for a near exorbitant price. Charles then shaped them into spirals that cut the air at precise angles to best lift both machine and man into the air without compromising mechanical efficiency. 

It was, in a word, perfect.

But that was just the first one. 

The first machine, which Erik had lovingly named _Chirlak_ (Charles in Genoshan), had lasted nearly six months until he and Erik were blasted out of the sky by what Erik called "stray gunshots," and what were actually bullets from a patrol in the eastern reaches of Westchester, nearing the Genoshan border. After some chastising and sighing and promising to _never_ do that again, a second machine was made, with just as much dedication; that one was named _Eisenhardt,_ after Erik's mother. Three-and-a-half months, waterlogged. Erik claimed a storm, but Westchester been going through a drought for months. Genosha, as Charles had found out a few weeks later, was in its monsoon season. 

This machine, or what was left of it, had been Erik's fifth. Charles couldn't even remember the name he'd given it. It was entirely possible that Erik had skipped that process entirely, knowing it would end up, as all others, in an unrecognizable pile of scrap metal. After he'd promised he wouldn't go to Genosha again.

It would be easy, even expected, to be angry with Erik, but Charles couldn't. Not when he knew how stubborn Erik was. Genosha had been revolting against the crown for the entirety of their lives combined, and Erik was born what both of them knew was nowhere near the end of it. While his people were burned and shot and beheaded in their homeland, Erik was in Westchester, the wealthiest fief in the kingdom, smuggled out by his mother before he had learned to say her name.

Anger was a perfectly reasonable response. Sadness, despair, longing. Guilt was another emotion Charles understood the source of, though he often reminded Erik that it was not needed. In their six years of friendship, at least a few months had to be just Charles pulling Erik's head in his lap and listening to him talk. He understood Erik better than Erik understood himself in many ways, as Erik did with Charles. They were inseparable, even when they were separated. Erik often strode into town wearing Charles' clothing, if it was clean and it fit him. If someone needed Erik, they skipped his house and went to Charles' shop.

One would think this familiarity would mean Charles understood Erik's compulsion to fly into active warzones, but somehow it didn't.

But one thing was abundantly clear to him, despite his inability to relate: Erik was going to die. A fact that didn't matter so much to Erik as it should have, and one that kept Charles up late into the night when he hadn't seen Erik in days. There would be times when Erik would come home without his machine, that much Charles could stand. They lived in the center of trade between the fiefs and sea-bordering kingdoms; Charles could always build another one. But though Charles had tried, there was no way he could build another Erik.

Erik took a step forward and brought his hand, warm and gentle, to Charles neck. The heat of his fingertips made Charles shiver. "I'm sorry, Charles, there was—" 

"You don't need to keep making excuses. You were in Genosha, you were seen, they shot you down. I know what happened." With great strength, Charles pushed the wheels of his chair forward just enough to leave Erik's touch. He closed his eyes. Without Erik's gaze softening him, he let himself be selfish. "I just wish you'd stop.

"And I know that I know you can't," he said before Erik could retort. "It's just that... I don't know. I thought maybe your promise was a real promise. But I understand that what I ask is too much."

"No, it isn't," Erik said, so quiet Charles almost missed it.

Charles opened his eyes again and saw Erik staring into a space beyond the reddening treeline. Charles' workshop was atop a hill, far from the township and even further from the capitol. Erik liked it here best because he could barely see any sign that he was actually in Westchester; even the ever-present shadow of the royal palace was just a dot on the horizon. Farms surrounded the shop in every direction, and in the summer the smell of sweetcorn and hay drifted in from the fields.

An autumn breeze, carrying with it dead leaves from the raffila trees, ruffled Erik's hair and colored his cheeks a slight tinge of pink. His jaw was set, casting a shadow against the tawny skin of his neck. He tilted his head slightly to reveal another cut under his chin. He was going to need a scarf soon, Charles thought. Genoshan winters were notoriously vicious. Would he sacrifice some swiftness in the next machine for more insulation? It depended, Charles realized, tilting his head, on whether the cold or the guns were more dangerous. Maybe he should buy Erik some more clothes to layer with. And something more muted, too, Charles thought with a slight smile, eyeing the fraying magenta tunic that struggled to hang from his broad shoulders.

"What are you thinking about?" Erik's voice broke through Charles' careful plan to clothe Erik in more neutral colors. He had, at the moment Erik asked, been thinking about a mahogany overcoat lined with fur, both to satisfy Charles' concerns of warmth and Erik's concern for fashion. Before he could answer, Erik said, "I'm sorry, Charles."

"For what?" 

"For—you _know_ what for!" Erik gestured wildly to the ruined flying machine. "For that. And...." He looked at the ground. "And for everything. All of it."

Charles chuckled, relaxing further back into his chair. "You don't need to apologize to me. And it's my fault for making them, really. Quite foolish of me to think you won't go over there."

Erik put his hands on his slender hips and sighed. He scuffed the ground with his boot (something else Charles should probably work on replacing). "I just... I just wish I could repay you, somehow. I feel like all you do is give and never receive."

"Stop," said Charles. He wheeled towards Erik and grabbed his hand, pressing the sooty palm to his lips. "I just want you to come home, darling. That's all."

There was a rustling sound as Erik dropped to one knee and pulled Charles forward into a deep kiss that tasted of smoke and copper. Charles threaded his fingers through Erik's hair, breathed in his smell, memorized his mouth. When they finally pulled apart, both of their cheeks were wet with tears and perhaps blood.

"Love you," Erik choked out. He leaned his forehead against Charles' and closed his eyes. After a few moments his breathing calmed, and he said, "I love you."

"Oh, darling." Charles bumped their noses together. Just as they did, the brass casing of the cockpit crashed to the ground. Erik jumped but Charles held him still. "I love you too. Now let's draw you a bath."

**Author's Note:**

> i have absolutely no clue what this was, i wrote this in three hours and decided to post it. if you have questions about the world i set them in please feel free to ask! i know it's probably super confusing lol. sorry for any inconsistencies, i decided i didn't want to have to read it again when i posted it
> 
> i might be tempted to write more about how they met.. if you want that sound off in the comments or something idk! special thanks to the x-men discord i'm in for being so supportive and lovely :-)


End file.
